


the departure

by silience



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/F, Romance, Slight Canon Divergence, i wanted more pain than mass effect could give me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silience/pseuds/silience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>thessia burns alight, the reapers unleashing their mindless horrors upon the asari and shepard is forced to deal with the consequences of the unforeseen failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the departure

**Author's Note:**

> so i felt as though the aftermath of thessia felt slightly hollow compared to the emotional turmoil the entire mission evoked. i wanted to add a bit more to liara and shepard's conversations so what started as something rather simple ended up, as usual, much more complex. anyways, enjoy!

their trip on the shuttle from thessia to the normandy is quiet, stifling, mournful. shepard can barely breathe; the oxygen refuses to fill her lungs up. she distinctly remembers the sensation from a half imagined dream. the struggle to inhale, the searing burn spreading through her chest like an infection as she drowns in the desolate ocean of space. dimly, she feels an itching discomfort crawling up her waist, but she pushes it into the background as soon as she lifts up her head. liara is leaning against the shuttle’s window, curled in unto herself, her arms wrapped around her body as though she is subconsciously protecting herself from an invisible assault. shepard’s heart clenches painfully as a film of magnified sound and nightmarish visuals unspools behind her eyes: the terrified screams of the asari, their choked pleas for their goddess, the flames bursting and engulfing the commandos, the reaper landing and bringing forth the end to their existence, their cherished identities, their secret memories and their souls that shall never touch or be touched again.

then earth flashes. crimson sticky blood, prayers for help, torn flesh, loved ones dead, fire swallowing a nation. she jerks back into reality when a taloned hand falls on her shoulder. she does not want garrus to see her like this. he can always see through her like one can see through the surface of a shallow water stream. she has to be the commander the universe needs her to be, the rock that liara needs her to be. she glances at her lover once again, heart splintering in its cavern as tears flood liara’s gemstone eyes, despair and profound sorrow radiating off of her. liara, unlike shepard, grew up on thessia, wandered its lavish gardens alongside her mother, gazed at its starry sunset at everyday’s end, soaked her feet in its soil and thought _home_. shepard leans on garrus’ armored shoulder, silently accepting his wealth of comfort and vows, chants, promises reckoning, but also peace if she can, if she still believes. she wants to.

cortez docks the shuttle inside the safe belly of the normandy. there are lines dug deep around his mouth, his fingers tremble with an unspoken effort. shepard pats his back, sparing him a gentle nod which he acknowledges with a tight, “commander.”

it seems that they carried the death of thessia with them aboard the shuttle for the rest of the squad was waiting for their return and as soon as shepard jumps down from the shuttle followed by garrus and liara, they bow their heads in a unanimous chorus of respect and understanding for the losses endured, the losses that are bound to be shouldered once again until the reapers are vanquished. shepard exhales heavily, past the hurt, the destruction, and hands over her helmet to tali. from the peripheral of her vision, she senses liara walking away, her alpine white armor scratched and stained with smudges of purple blood that shepard knows is not hers. she wants to reach out, attempt to heal the gaping wound, stitch it together and make it her own suture to tend to. she wants to quell the well of infinite despondency within her lover but she knows it is not the time to do so. she will not breach liara’s orbit yet.

“shepard? what happened down there?” tali asks, waves of concern streaming off of her.

“we,” shepard starts, her voice catching, stumbling. she clears her throat, gathers herself and stands straighter. she must accept the failures on thessia, shoulder them until they sink into her soul. she must move on. she will fall apart later. “the mission failed. cerberus and kai leng obtained a prothean vi that is the key to the crucible. thessia has fallen against the reaper invasion. i… am sorry.”

“fucking hell,” james breathes.

“oh liara,” tali shakes her head, her arms hug shepard’s helmet against her chest. “keelah. i cannot imagine what she’s feeling right now… watching as her home-world is being taken away from her.” she stops, her whole body slumping and it is as though she is withering in her suit.

“yeah,” garrus joins. “it is brutal. i just hope she will be alright.” he slings off his sniper rifle and assault rifle, heaving a sigh of relief. he throws a quick glance at shepard. “make sure to visit dr.chakwas for that, shepard. you’re still bleeding if you haven’t noticed.”

“i will,” shepard answers absently.

she disposes of her weapons at the landout and takes the elevator up to her cabin, aching to remove her armor and strip away from her soldier identity so she can simply _be_ a woman. layers of grime, sweat, blood and devastation cling to her skin, an intrusive remainder of the battle scenes they just abandoned. she sucks in a deep breath, shakily releases it and runs her fingers through her hair. her fingers comb out dried blood, and she wonders if maybe she has managed to wound her head somewhere. the elevator door silently slides open, followed by the door to her cabin and she denies how her chest constricts when she does not detect liara’s presence anywhere in her quarters. shepard pushes down any hurt and disappointment into the back recesses of her mind, focuses instead on taking off her armor, the shells of her shoulder plating, the gauntlets, the greaves and the chest plate, peeling away the commander, the rock. the process is clinical, detached, ingrained in her that it is almost written in her body. she stands up, her armor, scratched and worn, is nothing but a clutter of empty passivity.

for a minute, she sits still on the edge of her bed, the cabin fluttering with the sounds that are familiar to her: the distinct noise of the aquarium's filters, the whispering melody streaming from her music pad which she forgot to switch off earlier today, the notifications alerting her that she has received messages of importance from somewhere in the high command. she glances at the unfinished collection of poetry lying on top of her stand, composed by e.e cummings, expectedly ancient since it is a gift from ashely. just a few hours ago, she was reading one of the poems to liara and thus far, her lover’s favorite is a poem titled ‘if i believe’. shepard summons that memory; the warmth of liara’s body against hers, the laughter spoken against shepard’s collarbones, the delicate kisses liara sowed on her skin.

she grips the edges of the her underarmor and softly hisses. she supposes kai leng’s sword pierced through the armor’s mesh and left her with a horizontal puncture that is not too deep. if it is, she should have been dizzy, barely able to stand on her feet. as it happens, she is doing fine so, she rationalizes, it should be okay to delay her visit to the med bay. karin may give her a reprieve, perhaps a glare and a troubled sigh, but she will be infinitely gentle, as always. she carelessly applies a thin coat of medi-gel to temporary seal it so that the water does not prompt it to bleed once again.

the shower is comforting, washes away the visible remnants of thessia’s destruction. she hums to an old unsung lullaby her mother often used to lull her baby sister to sleep; she does not carry anything from her past save for hymns, choruses, verses, joyous giggling of children, the rustling of grass blades. she wonders if she will ever return to the green place she glimpsed as death took her in. she wonders if, centuries later, liara will join her. the thought nourishes her tired soul, injects hope in her veins. she leaves the shower, towels off and puts on her n7 sweatshirt along with a pair of loose fitting black pants. her fiery wet hair leaves damp pools on her shoulders, darkening the grey wool of her shirt.

she stares out of her window, the stars glimmering like effervescent jewels, their beauty unperturbed and unblemished by the eternal horrors that the cosmos continue to inflict, unaffected by the reapers blotting out souls by the thousands every passing minute. her persisting dreams of the child, the people, the turians and the asari that she could not save are patiently weakening her resolve, tearing down the promises that she does not think she can uphold anymore. she remembers anderson, smiling down at her in brimming pride, as he told her, “you are made of steel and tungsten.” she smiled, graciously accepting his comment, but inwardly, she shook her head. the source of jane’s strength and will are from those who surround her, derived from their own belief in her, cultivated by her desire to protect their futures, hardened by her memories of them. alone, she is powerless, empty, begging for death to come so she can close her eyes and rest for eternity.

the comm on her desk flickers to life, an orange glow emitting from its screen, calling for attention, and jane debates whether she can pretend no one out there requires anything of her except to simply be, but her logical pragmatism wins in a heartbeat and she takes long sure strides, lightly tapping on the accept touch button. she tries to inject her voice with an energy she does not feel, silently wishes for her crew to not question her current morale. “what is it?”

“commander.”

it is traynor and she sounds hesitant, tentative.

“the asari ambassador, tevos, is desperately asking for a report on thessia. she is quite adamant that you respond swiftly and without delay.”

“shit,” jane breathes. bile clogs her throat as a cataclysm of hysteria and a stench of death pervades her. tevos entrusted her with the mission, the prothean vi that slipped right from her hands into cerberus possession, the asari commandos cleared a path for them as jane pushed and forged her path from the blind faith and worthless sacrifice of soldiers. what the fuck is she supposed to say to tevos? she nods, remembers than traynor is waiting over the comm, so she swallows and stiffly says, “i’m coming down.”

no one looks her in the eye, their sympathy radiating off of them like viscous miasma, whispers undulating and shoulders sagging, the last joyous victory over the reaper a distant memory, already faded around the edges. she crosses the war room, her mouth set grimly, a stock image of the bearer of bad news. she remembers ashley quoting, ‘in historical reality it is not the ideal, goodness, or morality that prevails — their kingdom is not of this world — but rather decisiveness, energy, presence of mind, practical talent. this fact cannot be gotten rid of with laments and moral condemnations. man is thus, life is thus, history is thus.’ she cannot quite place the context, but whatever it is, she is certain ashley was attempting to provide solace in her own unique method. she exhales once she steps into the comm room, not bothering with rehearsing any apology or speech; nothing will amend the death toll.

the electric blue holograph of tevos pops up for a second, then disappears before promptly appearing, the signal ostensibly weak. she begins speaking but the line is so ridden by static that jane can barely stitch her words together. “commander … full … please tell me… going on?” then suddenly, the call stabilizes and tevos’ voice, though still shaky, is clear. “what is happening, commander? reports are flooding in and they are indeterminable, chaotic. thessia went dark a few minutes ago and …,” she breaks off, and jane knows it has nothing to do with the unstable connection.

“ambassador … i am sorry.” unrestrained anger coils in her stomach, hot and heavy; tied with remorse so bitter that she can taste it on her tongue. tevos is looking searchingly at her and jane can see that she is afraid. “the mission did not go as planned. cerberus interfered and they stole what we were there for. the reapers are there in force and thessia is suffering great losses.”

“i … see.” the asari’s shoulders drop as her hands cover her mouth in what appears to be contemplation but jane knows it is a gesture meant to keep whatever is raging inside tevos in. “then excuse me, commander. i will have to settle some matters and arrange whatever i can do. goddess be with you.” with that, she turns away and the call ends.

it takes her a while to leave the comm room, gather herself up and arrange her screaming demons. she wants to hide somewhere to recover and lick her wounds, but time is a treasure she cannot afford to dream of; an invisible timer is ticking away as a life after a life flickers out, the reapers ravaging star systems and consuming nebulas. she tells herself she can do this, that if she believes it then it is as real the salivating threat looming over their civilization. she greedily breathes in, and strides out the room into the bridge and she is not surprised that most of her crew, including liara, is standing around the war table, creases of consternation and anticipation lining their faces. anger, once again, bubbles in her gut. it is not aimed at them, for they are trying to assist however they can, but it is pooling, its flames licking hotly against her chest.

“cerberus needs to be stopped,” she announces, her voice low, yet it carries well across the bridge. “they _will_ not stand in the way again. ever. we will retrieve the catalyst and i’m going to personally see to it that cerberus burns to the fucking ground.”

liara flinches, the sick pallor of her skin painfully visible underneath the harsh illumination. “no one could have predicted that cerberus would reach thessia before us. it was a cowardly ambush. one that proved the rot and weakness in their core.” she leans against the war table and jane’s throat clenches. anyone with a decent pair of eyes and a good sense can see that liara is swaying with waves of mental and physical exhaustion. “i’m sorry, jane,” she whispers after a moment of stilted silence.

she nods as an overwhelming need to hug liara overtakes her. she resists and instead, squeezes liara’s shoulder gently.

“alright. first priority is locating cerberus’ base. any ideas?” she sees heads turning, crew members avidly seeking out who may have something to say. when a few moments of expectation hang in the air and no one speaks up, eyes turn downcast, disappointment permeating the bridge. jane half hoped liara, as the shadow broker, would be able to unearth a source of divine omnipotence and efficiency that would gladly offer up a morsel of information, but no such luck. liara is silent, bent. she does not glance in her direction. “well… anyone?”

traynor speaks up about the iera system, horizon and sanctuary, the possibility that cerberus may be lurking about there. jane can feel hope emerging from the well of shadows inside of her. the assumption that cerberus is meddling in the affairs of human refugees is disconcerting, the horrors of their supposed ‘scientific’ experiments fresh in her memory. they wrap up the impromptu meeting, each tending to their business or going back to their stations. jane considers checking up on her teammates, or even fixing herself a drink but then a pang emits from her injured waist and she releases a defeated sigh.

the elevator quickly takes her down to the crew’s quarters. when the steel door slides open to reveal tali in the corridor, she is not surprised. the quarian fidgets restlessly, her fingers clenching and unclenching, her glowy gaze directed towards the dead in action members of the normandy. jane can sense her troubled aura as though she can taste it on the tip of her tongue.

“i don’t know what to do or say. i have never seen liara like this. not even after noveria.”

“damn,” garrus curses, his voice tight with unspoken sorrow.

“can you talk to her?” tali asks. “you have known her as long as any of us … and with palaven,” she trails, hoping garrus will catch the thread of her implication.

garrus responds quickly, frustrated. “i’m just another damn reminder of how many people are dying. you should talk to her.”

“i just regained my homeworld,” tali says sadly, as though the mere idea hurts her. “she just lost hers.”

“well, i don’t have any magic words. she needs time,” garrus suggests. “maybe call her later.”

“she went straight to her cabin. she’s not answering her comm,” she shakes her head.

jane steps off the elevator and tali, hearing her footsteps, turns around, almost trembling in her effort to contain her frustrated energy.

“i’ll go talk to liara,” jane intervenes, her hand almost fluttering to her untreated wound. “and i’ll let her know both you and garrus are concerned about her.”

tali sighs in relief as her shoulders sag, her youthful exuberance sparking up. “thank you, shepard.”

she nods, a coil of anguish already clogging up her throat. there are no words that will bring liara peace, no kisses that will ease her pain. jane will do what she does best instead. she will give liara purpose to wipe her tears away, tuck aside her demons and doubts to fight for the struggling good that still remains rooted in the galaxy. she walks towards liara’s cabin, unprepared to face the monstrous grief of her lover because she can barely look at hers, but gentle determination permeates her. she will be whatever liara wants her to be. she will do whatever it takes.

the cabin is unlocked, its hatch rolling open, glyph quickly floating up towards jane, welcoming her back excitedly, almost desperately, but jane dismisses the notion. the terminal of the shadow broker spills artificial violet dusk colored lights onto the room, displaying the athena nebula. liara sits on top of her neat bed, datapads sprawled all around her, an unstable hurricane of speculative information right beneath her fingertips. her muscles are tense with distress, her eyes are unfocused and yet her voice is solid, unwavering. her hand hovers over a datapad as she skims through reports from thessia.

“i have studied protheans my entire life. if i had been shown the beacon on thessia earlier,” she says bitterly.

“you would have needed shepard’s cipher to comprehend it,” edi reasons over liara’s comms.

“i still could have learned from it!” she exclaims, rubbing her eyes as a stray tear escapes. “instead,” she continues, trembling. “my mother hid the galaxy’s most important archaeological find from me. it must have been such a joke to her when i became a prothean researcher.”

“the penalties for withholding prothean technology are among the harshest in council space. your mother’s motives may have been simply to shield you.”

liara pauses, unwilling to dwell on edi’s remark, afraid of doing so. jane understands so thoroughly the cruel desire to accuse dead spectres of crimes committed against oneself and to wish to unload old pains and hand them over to those who cannot answer back from the darkness.

finally, liara bows her head in defeat and acquiesces. “perhaps. thank you, edi. i … i had not considered that.”

jane eases herself down beside liara, the soft bedding dipping underneath her weight. liara does not look up from the pools of information as she drowns in thessia’s mournful notes of death. jane remembers her lover’s visible devastation as she watched her mother die, she lives once again the defining moment of undiluted grief as liara knew she had to leave ilos to follow saren, she sees the asari shaking with unrestrained sorrow and resentment as she asks jane for a promise she could not make.

_i need to know you’re always coming back._

despite herself, jane wonders what the two of them would be like if the maelstrom of battle and the horrific losses of their yesterdays had not marred their bodies and souls. wishful thinking can hurt as much as the bestilled reality.

before, when the alliance took her in, she trapped herself in any dark unused cabin she could find, squeezing her eyes shut as she breathed in the memories like a corrupt drug: her mom dragging her away against her will as her father stood vigilant at the doorstep of their house, amy, a sweet girl of fourteen, whimpering with tears in her eyes as jane had to usher her out of her bedroom, trying to find a place to hide until their distress signal could be intercepted by anyone near the colony. later, the blood spilling from amy’s gunshot wound, her heart beat dilating, her soft voice infused with confused panic. _jane? jane, i want to go back home. please, take me back home. where is mom? jane?_ then, her fluttering lips ceased to move and she relaxed her grip on jane’s hand. the frenzied screams of the others remained ongoing for a while as jane huddled in the corner with amy’s head still resting on her lap. she could not escape the memory. it haunted her, demanding to be lived over and over again. it gradually faded until liara asked gently if she could meld with her to sooth her dreams, quiet down the voices that accuse her of tawdry cowardice and blame her for surviving while they are nothing but pale corpses. liara’s meld was a balm to an injury. she took jane’s hand and kissed her knuckles, wrapped her in an ardent embrace as their nerves coalesced. liara endured her deep etched sorrow, tasted the festering wounds, felt the scars of witnessing horrors that jane could not defeat. she reached out to the sixteen year old jane, whispered salvation and forgiveness in a language that transcended mere communication.

how can she provide that when the landscape of liara’s spirit is wrecked with fresh pulsing pain? she is terrified that once she reaches out to heal, liara will push her away, rightfully rejecting the comfort of the woman who cannot save anyone.

“how can this be happening?” liara asks, not seeking an answer.

jane looks up at her, sensing the lines of fear embedded into her lover.

“goddess, i feel like i want to tear down the walls. i want to throw myself in battle and rip apart those reaper abominations. i want their blood on my hands. i want revenge.”

“i know,” jane responds simply, inches closer and shoots down her hesitancy. she pulls liara against her chest, encircles her arms around her midriff. liara’s familiar warmth flooding her body, her woodpine scent filling her head. hot tears soak her t-shirt alongside the damp tendrils of her flame hair.

“is this what you feel like everyday? i never considered … i’m sorry, jane. does this anger and hate drive you forward? is this what fuels you in battle?”

jane shakes her head silently. regret encases her heart in cruel coils. “no. no, not this. you remind me of what i fight for. hope is my banner, liara. many taught me that peace is no myth or a bygone legend that only dreamers conjure.”

“how can you say that right now?” liara breaks away from her, pearly tears drop down her cheeks, their wet trails shining against her skin. “my people are dying by the _millions_! the asari are alone in their fight, yelling for help and right now, as we are speaking in this moment, their cries are swallowed in the void. we … i promised them that i’d save them,” she whispers, her ungloved fingers clutching the fabric of her suit right above her heart as though she can rip her pain out of the feeble organ. “and i witnessed their last moments, helpless, useless. i stood by just like the rest of the galaxy.”

a hurricane of emotions flares inside jane’s chest as compassion fill her up to the brim. she understands liara’s bleeding aches, the conflicting duties that are battling like unchained beasts in her mind: save thessia or save the galaxy. she knows liara’s nightmares will soon loom on the threshold of her consciousness and the visions of the catastrophic suffering will haunt her for many years to come. she silently offers comfort, placing tiny kisses along liara’s jaw, running her fingers over her crest gently. loss struck liara once; jane was not there to stand by her side. today, it strikes her again and jane is _here_. she is not sure if that will be enough and yet she hopes. if anything, liara is tough as nails, a solid constance of harmonic energy. she hung on to her purpose of saving feron and bringing down the shadow broker for two years, holding herself together with sheer power and will. jane admires her for her unwavering tenacity, the kindness in her that still finds place in the darkest moments.

“we will save them, liara,” jane says, resolute, firm. her arms wrap around liara’s shoulders, providing stability, swearing an oath. “we will succeed. against all odds, we will triumph and we will look back on moments like these and weep for all those lost but we will always own the future.”

liara does not respond, her eyes fluttering shut in surrender, the tip of her nose an endearing shade of light violet. even in her loss, she is an elegant wholesome being, stitched together with silvery threads in the dark tapestry of space. jane senses the tension dissipating from liara’s taut limbs as though the hurt and sadness she holds tight to is bleeding through her skin. it will come back, when hope is pronounced nothing but a wispy illusion, when the mind is festered with bitter doubts and sour fear, when the night falls and liara is alone and the macabre of the nightmares are inexorable. jane swipes her thumb along liara’s freckles, a strange concoction of adoration and duty swirling inside of her, the need to offer sweet solace to liara, love her and give her time to heal properly, and the fiery crazed thirst to shoot the reapers, spill their blood and bring them down until her life force trickles out of her body.

“i often forget that you are wise beyond your years,” liara finally muses, gazing through her, perhaps spying the bloodlust and the mangled love jane reserves for her. “no one can do this except you, jane,” she says, steely conviction shining in her eyes. “you know,” she begins, trailing her fingertips across jane’s smooth cheeks. “when you… went away, i truly believed the galaxy was lost, an open feast for the reapers, defenseless, hopeless. goddess,” she laughs weakly, her eyes downcast. “i threw myself at sensory pleasures, buried myself to forget, to pretend our fate was not doomed. it was easy. of course, i managed, with the help of some intelligent friends, to crawl back from that ditch. when i heard rumors you were back, relief so strong washed over me. i thanked the goddess and grudgingly, cerberus, for the miracle. the truth, then, became clear. you will raise hell in the face of the reapers because you are a feral beautiful thing, but you are still refined, your prowess sharp and deadly and by the goddess how i love you for it.”

warmth flooding her, jane leans in, stealing liara’s lips in an indulgent kiss, and liara, depositing all of her raw anguish into this rare but anticipated act of affection, reciprocates, melting against her soldier as she would against a soft inviting mattress. the universe cast its shadow over their heads, a relentless pressure that robs the pleasure from the intimacy. reluctantly, jane moves away, her mind set on thessia.

“i love you too,” she whispers, so full of the feeling she might burst. “even if thessia lost this battle, as long as one asari is standing in the face of adversary, the fight will go on. now, as the shadow broker, you can arrange for your agents to assist thessia, can’t you? maybe send supplies, medi-gel. hell, maybe even rescue attempts if the shadow broker can afford it.”

liara’s eyes light up, a pool of inspiration rushing into them. “how have i not thought of that? so stupid!” she leans in, pecks jane’s cheek gently as determination sets in the line of her jaw. “thank you, jane. if it weren’t for you, i’d be dwelling on what ifs and what have beens. alright, okay.” she stands up, walks into the small bathroom unit. jane hears the sound of running water briefly and then liara emerges, her face clean of any traces of distress. she looks as polished and cunning as the operative she is. “i have a contact on a station based close to athame. i believe they can spare a few shuttles to help with rescue efforts. i also have another contact who owes me tremendously. i’ll have feron communicate with them to ferret out some of their large funds.” she takes her position in front of the broker’s terminal, her back rigid and her eyes stark, as she brings up messages and reports on the screen.

aware of time ticking away, duties swarming on top of her head, jane stands up, resolved to the hours of reports ahead of her. as soon as she does, her vision swims precariously, and with a detached sense of self, she remembers the wound. had she lost more blood? that does not make sense. she sealed it temporary with a copious amount of medi-gel. she trudges out of liara’s cabinet, careful not to disturb her intent concentration, while she mentally peruses through data related to her injury. she dimly registers a fever building up, a tidal wave of internal heat. the door slides open, glyph wishing her a good day. _okay_ , she reasons, kai leng’s sword alone cannot generate this kind of reaction from her body. she made sure not much blood was lost, taking all the appropriate procedures into consideration. she has no other grievous wounds, just shallow scrapes and scratches, maybe a cut or two. no gunshots. but then, crossing the mass hall to the medbay, she remembers anderson’s warning: kai leng is a formidable assassin, plays dirty, cunning as a snake. her breath comes out in laborious pants, everything in her periphery hazes over. she thinks she hears a crew member calling her name, alarm choking his voice. and then she falls.

**Author's Note:**

> quote taken from nietzsche and his century by oswald spengler


End file.
